


Plausible Deniability

by scheherazade



Category: Tenimyu RPF
Genre: M/M, Woke Up Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: Tetsuya returns his stare with a soft look, all fondness. Hair mussed with sleep, a shadow of whiskers around his mouth. He props himself up on one elbow."Did you have a bad dream?"I'm still in a dream,a part of Yuuichirou wants to say.That depends,another part of him wants to say, and try his luck.He reflexively tells that part to shut up.





	Plausible Deniability

**Author's Note:**

> for mer, whom i accidentally dragged into makihira hell with me.

His phone is ringing, buzzing against the nightstand where he must've left it, instead of under his pillow as usual. Yuuichirou flails for the offending piece of technology — god, his head hurts; just how drunk had his supposed friends gotten him last night? — and his hand meets thin air, where furniture should have been.

"Sorry," says a voice. The mattress shifts; the ringing stops. "My phone."

Drunk enough to get him into bed, apparently.

He tries to think back, which makes his head hurt even more, but he can't remember much past Teyu showing up at the last minute and Kousuke — or maybe Sou — buying everyone another round.

Please, god, or whatever force in the universe is laughing at him, he better not have gone home with Sho. Not that Yuuichirou doesn't like him — Sho's one of the good ones — but the kid has some serious issues with emotional boundaries. 

A touch on his arm cuts off that train of thought. A light kiss pressed to his shoulder, where the collar of his t-shirt has dipped low — and, huh, that's weird. He's wearing pajamas. 

God, did he actually sleep with Jinnai Sho? Because Yuuichirou knows exactly two people who'd be stupidly sentimental enough to lend a one-night stand something comfortable to sleep in, and—

"You awake?" asks that voice, warm and husky against his neck, and the full-body shudder that goes through him has nothing to do with the hand curving around his hip.

No way.

Yuuichirou turns over so fast he nearly knocks his head against the other man's jaw. Not that it would matter, would it? You can't actually hurt yourself in a dream. As sick and lucid as this one is, because there's just no way in hell.

Except.

Tetsuya returns his stare with a soft look, all fondness. Hair mussed with sleep, a shadow of whiskers around his mouth. He props himself up on one elbow.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

_I'm still in a dream,_ a part of Yuuichirou wants to say. _That depends,_ another part of him wants to say, and try his luck.

He reflexively tells that part to shut up. 

Except.

If this is a dream, then it doesn't matter, right? And if it's not, then apparently he's already gone and crossed the line that — all Yuuta's snide comments about his poor decision making aside — Yuuichirou's been trying really, really hard not to even think about. 

Tetsuya is still smiling at him, expression taking on a slightly quizzical tint as the pause goes on and on.

Yuuichirou kisses him. 

Tetsuya kisses back, and oh dear god, this is actually happening. Happened. More than once, probably, judging by the unhurried press of lips against his.

And that's not fair, some other part of Yuuichirou thinks. It's not fair, when he's been wondering and dreaming and trying to talk himself out of it for years, and now it's actually happened and he _doesn't even remember last night_. He almost wishes this were a dream. Wishing never got anyone anywhere, outside of fairytales.

He pulls himself together and kisses Tetsuya with everything he's got.

"God," says Tetsuya, breathless, laughing. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing." And it's too easy, really, to add, "Nothing yet, anyway."

Tetsuya laughs again when Yuuichirou straddles him, but the hands on his hips are serious enough, and when Tetsuya pulls him down Yuuichirou goes.

 

* * *

 

He's starting to drift off again when the blankets are abruptly yanked away. Tetsuya chuckles at his indignant protest. 

"Just because you have the day off doesn't mean I don't have to go to work." 

The hand that runs through his hair is impossibly gentle, improbably familiar. Yuuichirou wants to memorize the feeling. He wants to say, _Stay in bed with me._

But Tetsuya is already pulling on a t-shirt, getting out of bed. Yuuichirou watches him pull on a pair of socks — along with faded basketball shorts, good lord; some things never change — and Tetsuya catches him staring. 

Yuuichirou catches the shirt thrown in his direction. 

"Come on," Tetsuya says, and with another smile, steps out the door. Yuuichirou hears him pad down the hall. The sound of cupboards opening; a faucet runs. It's almost too much like a comfortable morning, at home — Yuuichirou can't think about it. 

He slides out of bed and pads to the bathroom. 

If he were a different person, he might have noticed the other things — faded wallpaper; knick knacks tucked in corners, homey and lived in; two towels on the door; a pair of toothbrushes by the sink — but Yuuichirou turns on the light and glances into the mirror first.

There's grey in his hair.

He might have knocked something over. He might have made a sound approaching a shriek.

It brings Tetsuya running, flinging open the door — only to pause when he finds Yuuichirou staring into the mirror, white-knuckled grip on his own hair making the coloration even more noticeable.

Tetsuya laughs. 

"We talked about this, Yuu. At some point, it's not a compliment anymore when people say you don't look a day over twenty-five." Tetsuya presses a kiss to his temple, right against a curl of grey hair. He smiles at the stunned look on Yuuichirou's face. "Hurry up and get dressed. I'm making breakfast."

 

* * *

 

Two sets of towels. Toothbrushes. Slippers. Tetsuya's clothes in the dresser drawers, folded neatly alongside his. Yuuichirou stands under the shower spray until the hot water runs out, and it still doesn't wake him up from this dream. 

He knew it was too good to be true.

Breakfast is on the table when he finally heads to the kitchen. He finds a phone charging by the TV; the lock screen shows a photo of himself, with grey in his hair, Tetsuya's arm around him, laughing. The date reads June 7th, 2026. 

It has to be a dream. 

Tetsuya kisses him on his way out the door, absentminded in the way of a habitual action, jacket worn at the elbows and tie askew. Yuuichirou stops him, fixes the tie. Hears himself say, 

"I can't believe you're working on your birthday."

"Despite your best efforts, it's not a national holiday," Tetsuya jokes. Yuuichirou feels entirely justified in rolling his eyes at that. "The kids aren't gonna teach themselves. I promise I'll be back in time for whatever you have planned tonight."

"I don't have anything planned," Yuuichirou blurts. Because he doesn't. He never expected to wake up in this dream reality, much less _plan_ for it.

"Uh-huh. But seriously, nothing overboard, all right? Forty-three's not a glamorous number."

"There's nothing glamorous about you, old man." Even sarcasm feels blunted in the face of Tetsuya's fond laugh. Yuuichirou pushes him toward the door. "Oh, just go."

"All right, all right." One last smile, over his shoulder. "Enjoy your day off."

 

* * *

 

He's looking out the window, staring at the corner around which Tetsuya had disappeared, when he notices the skyline.

They're in Nagasaki.

 

* * *

 

He enters _Hirata Yuuichirou_ into a search engine and scrolls through years-old articles about shows, magazine events, gossip items and the occasional fan forum. 

His old blog and social media accounts are all gone, along with most of the over-zealous fan sites that had saved copies of photos and posts. A few remain.

Apparently, he retired three years ago.

He can't imagine what would have made him do that. Yuuichirou hasn't given much thought to life after his looks desert him, but he always expected to go on. Something must have happened. It wouldn't have been on his blog, but maybe reading his own words would have helped.

It's too bizarre to be a dream. 

He's starting to wonder if maybe he hit his head and lost eight years' worth of memories. It's got to be at least as plausible as waking up in an alternate dimension where he retired and moved to Nagasaki with his— with Makita Tetsuya, of all people. 

His phone buzzes. The notification reads, _Furukawa Yuuta_ , and: 

_I took care of it. What time is Makki getting home?_

Yuuichirou tabs over. The previous message, which he has no memory of sending, reads: _We are not Skyping Mao in ffs, tell your platonic life partner to get some chill_

He scrolls up to check what that's in response to and realizes, damn, he's an idiot. His public persona might be gone, but his personal correspondence is right here. Hundreds of messages with Yuuta, going back months and years. A couple messages from Daisuke, mostly photos and memes. From Sou, gossip and technical details about some production.

From Kacchi, a dissertation of a message — which he doesn't even bother reading — overtly sincere and over-emphasized with emoji hearts. Something about happiness, and love. Because Kacchi would. 

From his mother, _Are you two coming home next weekend?_

There's one from Sho that reads, _Checked my schedule and I'm actually flying out of Kumamoto that morning. Sorry. But good luck and drinks on me whenever you guys are in Tokyo next!_

While he's trying to decipher that, his phone buzzes again:

_My tie got drafted into service as a pirate eye patch. Good to know I'm a walking props department..._

A photo follows a second later, showing a grinning child dressed as a pirate. Behind her is a rudimentary practice set. Yuuichirou can see Tetsuya's reflection in the mirror. Other children in the background, playing with props and rehearsing scenes.

Yuuichirou puts his phone down. 

It feels like a dream — one that he never let himself believe in, because dreams are only a step away from fairytales, and he's too much of a realist to entertain pointless things.

At least, that's what he always told himself. 

He looks again at his phone. The messages from Tetsuya are sparse, reading more like a to-do list than actual communication. Things like, _Are we out of eggs?_ and _Be home around 8_ and _Laundry drying in bathroom open the door carefully._

He doesn't know what to do with any of that, so he goes back to the message from Yuuta. Apparently, he has planned something for tonight. _Low key?_ Yuuta had written, to which Yuuichirou responded, _It's a dinner involving you Dai and potentially Jinnai Sho, key is the least of my concerns_.

That explains Sho's text, though not entirely.

A couple new messages from Yuuta appear:

_Don't tell me you're still in bed_  
_We're still on for tonight, right?_  
_We are literally getting in the car right now so pick up your phone and text me back Hirata Yuuichirou, it's a 2.5 hour drive from Fukuoka_

He knows how far it is to Fukuoka. He grew up here — and he nearly writes as much to Yuuta. Instead, he scrolls up, and up, and up, as far back as the messages will load.

Something happened, and if it's nowhere to be found in his conversations with Tetsuya, then. Well. Yuuichirou has many friends, but the people he actually trusts, he can count on one hand.

He gets as far back as a message dated February 15th.

_Don't take this the wrong way,_ Yuuta had written, _but I'm actually really happy for you. So I hope you are, too._

_I know,_ was the reply. _And I've been thinking._

 

* * *

 

Here's the thing: Hirata Yuuichirou is not in love with his best friend.

And even if he was, Makita Tetsuya isn't the type to wake up one day and suddenly realize he's had a good thing all along, if only he'd bothered to take half a minute to reassess. He isn't the kind of guy who has a laughably predictable mid-life crisis. He certainly isn't the kind of guy who changes his mind about something as fundamental as who and what he's willing to settle for.

Loyalty, trustworthiness, quiet determination and good-natured humility. Whatever can be said of Tetsuya's good points — and there are plenty — emotional awareness isn't one of them. There are married couples less involved in each others' lives, and he's not just talking about marriages of convenience.

Not that Yuuichirou wants anything of the sort. He's old enough to know there's more than one way to love someone.

Anyway, he is not in love with his best friend.

He might have been confused for a while, when he was younger, but he's had enough time to get over it. Emotional compatibility and physical attraction aren't mutually exclusive, sure, but that doesn't mean there's only one inevitable conclusion. People are attractive. There are always extenuating circumstances.

Just because Tetsuya aged better than anyone with his dumb facial features has a right to doesn't mean Yuuichirou is going to fall for it.

He's made his peace with what it is. He's fine.

 

* * *

 

Yuuta picks up on the second ring. 

"You're alive."

"Naturally." Yuuichirou takes one last look in the mirror. He might be forty and going grey but he's still got it, if he does say so himself. "You guys in Nagasaki yet?"

"Yeah. Getting some food now, and—" Indistinct chatter that sounds like Daisuke. Yuuta snorts. "And then this one wants to go sightseeing. So while he gets himself lost, I'm gonna take a nap."

"Where's your sense of adventure!" comes Daisuke's laughing voice.

"Ditch him." Yuuichirou finds a set of keys by the door. "Let's go shopping."

A pause. 

"Now?"

"Yeah." It takes him a couple seconds to figure out the lock, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. "Where are you? I can be there in like half an hour."

 

* * *

 

On the way, Yuuichirou entertains himself by imagining what a thirty-eight year old Furukawa Yuuta might look like. Maybe Yuuta's gotten fat. Maybe his hairline's finally starting to recede.

The Yuuta that meets him at the bus stop looks the same as ever. If anything, he seems to have lost a couple years. 

It figures.

"Shopping," is the first word out of Yuuta's mouth. Eight years haven't hindered his ability to monologue in a perfectly placid tone. "I take my one day off to drive to goddamn Nagasaki, and he wants to go _shopping_. Sturdier hearts have despaired."

"Where's Daisuke?"

"I ditched him."

Yuuichirou laughs. "Poor man."

"You suggested it." Yuuta gives him a sideways glance. "Didn't think you wanted or needed another witness to whatever this is."

"What, shopping?" 

Yuuichirou leads the way down the street. The storefronts look different, but he still knows the area. More or less. Not that it matters. 

Yuuta follows him.

"How's Daisuke doing, anyway?" Yuuichirou picks his way through a cluttered clothing store; half the items look more like cast offs from a bad theater production. "Feels like I haven't seen him in ages."

"You saw him when you were in Osaka last month." Yuuta gives him a suspicious look. "Did you hit your head, or are you fishing for gossip?"

"Maybe I'm a time traveller, and this is all new to me." Yuuichirou tosses a red scarf at Yuuta. "What's your name—!"

Yuuta catches the scarf mid-air, ruining a nicely dramatic image. "That joke was already old five years ago. And I'm not your soulmate."

"Soulmates aren't a real thing."

"You all set for tonight?"

"Yeah." 

Yuuichirou looks at a hat — on sale — decides it's too similar to the one Yuuta's wearing. There's a rack of leather jackets in the corner. 

Yuuta follows like a hound on the scent. "Kind of seems like you're having second thoughts."

A hideously leggy, disgustingly show-ready hound. Probably one of those dogs with a bloodline purer than most royal families. 

"It's just dinner," Yuuichirou says. "He doesn't want any fuss. Forty-three's not really a milestone birthday anyway."

He picks up a jacket with an asymmetrical zip. Yuuta calmly snatches it out of his hands. 

"You already have two jackets like that. And that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"You know what. Tonight."

"I know we've been besties since we were little girls, but aren't we too old to be gossiping about our sex lives?"

Yuuta's brow furrows.

Okay, so his delivery could have been better. He's out of practice, or whatever. Still. A friend's supposed to at least pretend to laugh at your jokes.

Instead, Yuuta takes his arm and hauls him toward the door. 

"Hey, what— I wasn't done looking at stuff!"

"I'm taking you back to your place." Yuuta pushes him outside — ignoring Yuuichirou's protests that it's _hot_ , that was the whole point of shopping, being somewhere with AC — and even outside, Yuuta doesn't let go. "I should have known something was up."

"Nothing's up, except maybe the stick that's—"

"Why didn't you call me earlier, if you were freaking out about this?"

"You're the one making a scene, so would you just—" Yuuichirou yanks his arm out of Yuuta's grip. "I'm fine, okay!"

Yuuta just looks at him. "I expected you to get cold feet, when you actually had to do it. But this is like you've gone back to being the mess you were ten years ago." Yuuichirou doesn't flinch, though it's a near thing. Yuuta asks, "Did something happen with Makki?"

_You mean apart from the bit where I had sex with my best friend first thing this morning and then found out I was planning to jump off a metaphorical cliff tonight? No. Nothing. Nothing happened at all, because none of this is real._

Yuuichirou keeps a tight hold on the hysterical sarcasm.

"Things are fine," he says. "You're making a big deal out of nothing."

"You asked me to go shopping."

"Is 'shopping' girl talk for S.O.S. or something?"

"Yuu." And holy hell, that is honest-to-god _sympathy_ in Yuuta's voice. For him. "I hate shopping. And you hate shopping with people who hate shopping, and the only exception to that rule is the person who's your exception every rule."

His throat feels tight. "I don't hate shopping with you."

Yuuta rolls his eyes. "Yeah, because in this case, shopping was obviously code for _we need to talk_." At least the sympathy is gone. "You're impossible."

"You breaking up with me, Furukawa?"

"You want to talk about it or not, Hirata?"

Silence.

"Let's get a drink," Yuuichirou says. 

"It's two in the afternoon."

"Coffee, then."

"Pay for your own," Yuuta quips, but follows him down the street. 

A bit of cloud cover masks the sun; all told, it's not a bad day to be out. Yuuichirou wonders what he would have been doing today, if this was real, and this was actually the life he'd lived. 

"I can't believe you'd let me go through with this," he hears himself say.

Yuuta gives him a sideways glance. "Go through with what?"

"You know what."

"So you're not a time traveler after all."

"There's no such thing as time traveling." So either this is the most twisted dream he's ever had, or he's lost years' worth of memories. Either way, he's up shit creek without a paddle. All he's got is Yuuta. Which.

"But if I was," Yuuichirou says. "If you'd told me, ten years ago, that this is where I'd end up? I would've laughed you out of the building."

"You always planned to move back here eventually."

"Not that."

"It's not that much of a plot twist, you know."

"You can make anything make sense in hindsight."

"That's the thing about hindsight," Yuuta says. "You get more information, but more data doesn't change things that were always true to begin with. You just get confirmation."

"Talk like a normal person, would you?"

"You've always loved each other."

He nearly trips over a crack in the pavement. Yuuichirou scowls at his feet. "That's definitely not true."

"Okay, fine. Maybe it wasn't for like, a whole month when you first met. But give me some credit here. I've got eyes."

"So do a whole lot of other people."

"Yeah, and one of those people is _Watanabe Daisuke_..." 

Yuuta doesn't even finish that thought; Yuuichirou can't decide if he's glad or mortified. It's not that he doesn't talk to Daisuke. He just always assumed Daisuke was one of the dumb ones — a good one, but dumb — kind of like Yonehara Kousuke.

He'd just been drinking with the guy. In his normal timeline. In his reality. Him and Kousuke and Sho, shit-talking literally everyone they knew, plus a whole lot who probably didn't deserve it.

_Fuck 'em,_ Kousuke had said, ordering everyone another round. _Fuck them who'd rather be chained down, and fuck anyone who says we can't be just as happy._

He remembers Teyu cheerfully drinking to that, while Sou gave everyone a knowing look. Yuuichirou doesn't remember what Sho had to say about it. He doesn't remember much else. The next thing he remembers for sure is waking up in — this dream. 

And now Yuuta's looking at him, one eyebrow raised.

"I am not taking relationship advice from Watanabe Daisuke, of all people," Yuuichirou grumbles. 

"Nor should you," Yuuta agrees breezily. "I'm just saying."

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"Don't you?"

"I really hate you sometimes, you know that?"

"What are you afraid of, Yuu?"

_Nothing,_ Yuuichirou wants to say, like he always does. _Everything_ sounds dramatic, and isn't even true. There are plenty of things that don't frighten him anymore, because what's the point of being afraid of things like getting older, or feeling restless, being a petty person, and Tetsuya staying his friend despite it all.

He can't be frightened of not getting what he wants if he doesn't want it.

"This isn't real," he says quietly. Yuuta's brow furrows. "I've known him half my life. More than half my life. You can't say he's always— What's to stop him changing his mind again?"

He forces himself to stop talking. None of this is helping. 

And Yuuta is just watching him, with a look on his face that makes Yuuichirou want to smack him. He never asked for pity. 

He turns, walks down the street without waiting to see if Yuuta's following. 

He only gets a couple steps away before a hand on his elbow stops him.

"That's something you'll have to figure out with each other," Yuuta says, "if you haven't already." 

With that, he drops his hand. Nods at the shop they just passed — a cafe. 

"Come on," Yuuta says next. "I'll buy you a coffee."

 

* * *

 

Yuuta drops him off at the apartment before going to rescue Daisuke from whatever tourist trap he'd fallen into.

Afternoon has made the apartment unbearably warm. Yuuichirou turns on the AC and lies down on the bed for a minute, just to give his eyes a rest after hours in the sun.

He wakes up to fingers running through his hair. 

Tetsuya smiles down at him. "Long day?"

His tie's askew, and he's discarded his jacket, shirt sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. There's a sweat stain under his collar. Lines around his eyes, betraying his forty-three years.

The tie wrinkles in his hand when Yuuichirou pulls him down. 

 

* * *

 

“So," Tetsuya says, later, "not that that wasn't great, but I got the impression you wanted to go out tonight?"

Yuuichirou swats at him for the first comment. Misses — mostly because he can't be bothered to open his eyes; he'll get up to take a shower in a second — and Tetsuya catches his hand instead. Press of lips against his knuckles. The shape of a smile. 

"Daisuke and Yuuta are in town," Yuuichirou says. "Well, Fukuoka. But they drove over. We're meeting them for dinner."

"Oh." Tetsuya's voice is warm with surprise. "That was nice of them. Should I dress up?"

"It's your birthday."

"True. Where's my present?"

"You're too old for presents."

"Ouch. So that's how it's going to be, from now on?"

"Yeah, get used to it, old man." 

Tetsuya chuckles, a sound that Yuuichirou feels as much as hears, hand still caught in his. "Well," he says, "guess I can't complain, when I've already got all this."

"Shut up."

"Okay."

If he opens his eyes, Yuuichirou knows, everything will look blurry, the room caught somewhere between day and dusk. His breathing sounds loud in the silence. His limbs, heavy. The solid warmth of someone there, making him shiver worse than the AC.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mmhmm." Tetsuya shifts, probably to look at him. Yuuichirou doesn't check.

He wants to take his hand back. He doesn't know how he'll be able to take any of this back.

"Why'd you move to Nagasaki?"

"Well, it was your idea."

Of course it was. "Why'd you say yes?"

"Why wouldn't I say yes?" Tetsuya sounds somewhere between amused and confused. Yuuichirou tries and fails not to hear it. "What, do you miss Tokyo?"

"I can always visit Tokyo. It's just a place."

"So's Nagasaki."

"Bite your tongue."

A laugh, half apologetic and wholly affectionate. "I like Nagasaki. You know that."

"What if I'd said Sendai, instead?"

"I'd take you to get your head checked, first. But if you really wanted to. I like Nagasaki, but it's just a place. You know?"

"No."

"What?"

"I don't get what made you move halfway across the country. Just for." He can't get the rest of the sentence out. "Who does that?"

"I do, I guess. I did." A pause. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing." Everything. He doesn't open his eyes.

A hand on his cheek. "Hey."

He turns his head at the gentle insistence. Opens one eye, then the other. Half-dark softens every edge, not that the look in Tetsuya's eyes needs anything of the sort. 

"I love you," Tetsuya says. Just like that. "I know I'm not great at expressing it sometimes. I guess because it's so obvious to me. You know? But I'm always thinking it. You don't need to ask. Answer's always been the same."

That's a lie. It has to be. 

"I've known you half my life."

"More than half, now."

"You never said anything. Before."

Tetsuya's smile is crooked. Not quite chagrined, but something a little too close to regret. "Didn't know I could, really. You're pretty hard to read."

"Only to you."

"Yeah, well." Another smile. "That's why I'm glad you said something first." Tetsuya drops a kiss into the palm of his hand. 

And in what universe, Yuuichirou wonders. In what universe, under what circumstances, would he ever have admitted to such a thing, unprompted, when he had no reason to believe it would change anything, except for the worse?

His throat feels tight. 

"You're an idiot," Yuuichirou informs him. 

"I know," Tetsuya says easily, still smiling. Eyes crinkling. It deepens the lines on his face, forty-three years old and a children's drama teacher out here in Nagasaki, living in a shabby apartment that feels more like home than any place Yuuichirou has ever been. 

_I love you,_ he thinks. _And nothing's ever going to change that._

 

* * *

 

His phone buzzes under his pillow, insistent, annoying. Guaranteed to wake him up, no matter how deep a sleep he's fallen into. He shuts it off without opening his eyes. God, his head hurts. He'd made Yuuta promise not to let him drink too much, since he needed his head to be clear when—

Yuuichirou sits up. 

He's in his apartment, in Tokyo. 

He stares at the empty space in his bed for a second. Then he goes to the bathroom. In the mirror, his hair is dark and mussed. No sign of grey. It's morning, and there's just his toothbrush by the sink. His clothes in the laundry basket. His life. 

He checks his phone. The last message he got is from Sho — _Did you get home ok?_ — and it comes back. Drinking with Sho and Kousuke and the lot. He definitely drank too much. It must have caused the dreams. 

A ghost of an imagined kiss lingers on his lips. 

_That's the thing about hindsight,_ he hears Yuuta saying. _It doesn't change things that were always true._

He's being stupid. 

Probably.

It felt so real. 

He'd really thought he'd gotten over it. Or, at least, was beginning to. 

He scrolls through his other messages. Two weeks, since the last time he heard from Tetsuya. In his defense, Yuuichirou never responded to his vague recommendation for a restaurant that he's heard good things about, sounds interesting, might be worth checking out.

In Yuuichirou's defense, they're both idiots who always has to wait for the other person to ask first.

He writes, _You, me, dinner tonight._

_Okay,_ comes the response not a minute later. Followed by, _Everything ok?_

It's barely six in the morning. He feels homesick in his own home, and his whole body hurts in a way that suggests one day, maybe one day soon, he'll be too old to be doing this anymore. But there are worse things. He wants better. 

_Yeah,_ Yuuichirou writes back. _I need to talk to you._


End file.
